which swayed in the
wind, and with every breeze its leaves touched the dilapidated
moss-covered straw thatch of the roof; when the stronger gusts of wind
bent its boughs to the wall, and pressed its twigs and the waves of
leaves against the roof, it would seem as if the tree loved the house
and embraced it.

In this tree the sparrows made their home; the rustling of the leaves
and twigs commingled with the chirp and joyous noise of the birds; in
the eaves of the house the doves had built their nests, and the place
was filled with their speech, cooing and calling to each other,
entreating and discussing as is customary between doves, these noisy
and talkative people.

At times it happened that they were startled by some unknown cause;
then around the house was heard a loud flapping, the air was filled
with the whirl of wings and a multitude of white-feathered breasts;
you could hear tumult, noise and excited cries--the whole flock flew
out suddenly, circled round the house, now near, now far off.
Sometimes they melted in the blue, sometimes their white feathers
reflected the sunlight, again they hung over the house, undulating in
the air, and alighting at last like a downfall of snowflakes on the
gray straw of the roof.

If this occurred in the rosy morning or in the splendor of the red
setting sun, then in the glory of the air these doves were not white,
but tinted pink, and settled on the roof and birch tree as flames or
scattered rose leaves.

At twilight, when the sun had hidden itself beyond the woods, this
cooing under the roof and chirping in the birch tree became gradually
quiet. The sparrows and the doves shook the dew from their wings and
prepared to sleep; sometimes one of them gave voice once more, but
more rarely, more softly, more drowsily, and then all was silent--the
dusk was falling from the heavens upon the earth. The house, cherry
trees, and birch were losing their form, mingling together, melting,
and veiled in a mist which rose from the lake.

Around the glade, as far as the eye could reach, there stretched the
wall of dark pine trees and thick undergrowth. This wall was broken in
one place by a wide dividing line, which reached to the edge of the
lake. The lake was a very large one, the opposite side was nearly lost
to view, and in the mist could be hardly discerned the red roof and
steeple of a church, and the black line of the woods closing the
horizon beyond the church.

The pines were l